


Some Things Never Change

by redwinehouse (orphan_account)



Series: Cranial Capacity INDEFINITE HIATUS, BUT A FULL STORY LINE WAS COMPLETED [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: Sherlock and John take action after receiving the cryptic text message. As you promised, you try to break things off with Moriarty, but the situation becomes much more complicated when you are swept out of the country.





	Some Things Never Change

  


[ ](http://www.dazzlejunction.com/generators/image-generator.php)

  


Time seemed to slow as Sherlock read the sinister text. He was being baited and he knew that he had to bite. He brought the phone back to his ear. “I will trust that you will do what you say, but only this once. I need to go, I love you,” Sherlock said to you in a hurry. He hung up before you could even reply. 

“What was that about?” John looked surprised at Sherlock’s abruptness. Rather than answer, Sherlock handed him his phone before his fingers flew across the keyboard. John raised his eyebrows. “’ _JM_ ,’ James Moriarty?” 

Sherlock grunted. 

“These are obviously coordinates... ‘for fun and games’?” John put the phone on the table and pushed it away like it had the plague. “This guy gets more demented by the second. Are we doing a little meet and greet?” 

Sherlock leaned back, “I hope you like kilts.” 

“Kilts?” 

Sherlock turned the computer screen, showing the coordinate marker. “Our game’s got a wee bit Scottish.” Sherlock grabbed his phone and jabbed at a contact. It rang several times until pure aggravation picked up on the other end. 

“And what could you possibly want?” 

“I need a plane.” 

Mycroft’s sigh was so loud that even John could hear it. “Then why don’t you ask Santa?” 

Sherlock slammed a fist on the table. “Stop with the banter! I need a plane!” 

“And why would that be?” 

“Because my made-to-order terrorist or nemesis or whatever who kidnapped Jade and sexually assaulted my wife is in Scotland and I need to be there at this very moment, and if you don’t help me, I will hijack a plane or something else ridiculous,” Sherlock took a breath, “and you know I would.” 

“And you’re telling me this _now_?” Mycroft asked, this time his voice was tinged with anger. 

“GET ME A GODDAMN PLANE YOU INSUFFORABLE TWAT!” 

John ripped the phone from Sherlock’s hand. “Eh, it’s John,” he started awkwardly, “look, we’re very pressed for time and Sherlock is beside himself. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” 

“Oh, he meant it,” Mycroft replied dryly. 

John gave an uncomfortable chuckle, “Either way, we really do need to get there or someone is going to get hurt.” 

“He is very lucky that I love my niece and sister-in-law as much as I do.” 

John’s mouth dropped. “So you’ll do it!?” 

“Yes. I’ll have one waiting at London City airport. Don’t bother going in. Someone will meet you outside.” 

“Thank you, thank you so much.” 

Mycroft snorted. “I didn’t do it for you.” With that, the line went dead. 

~*~ 

The flat was deathly quiet, as it always was when Sherlock and John were gone. You hated it. Normally you would have your gurgling baby to keep you company, but she was gone and you were alone. You watched the morning sun shine through the living room window, illuminating the swirls of dust dancing in the air. Too tired to make coffee, you went upstairs to put something warm on. 

You pulled on one of your knitted jumpers that went down to your knees. Warm and cozy, you opened the bedroom door to smell… 

coffee? 

”What the hell?” you asked, coming down the stairs. You rounded the corner to the kitchen and groaned. “ _Really_?” 

Moriarty poked his eyes over his newspaper. “Well _someone_ isn’t a morning person.” he folded the newspaper and placed it on the table. “Fancy a cup o’ Jo?” He lifted up his mug. You rubbed your eyes furiously, hoping that this was a dream because you did not need this right now. Seeming to have read your mind, Moriarty said, “Sweetheart, I know I’m dreamy but I am actually in your kitchen.” he jabbed his thumb over to the coffee machine. “I even made you coffee. I think that at least warrants a ‘thank-you’.” 

”We’re done, James.” 

Moriarty raised his eyebrows and gave you some comically wide-eyed blinks. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm. “I’m sorry, what?” 

You pointed to him and then your chest. “This. This is done. I’m breaking it off.” 

Moriarty ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and looked to the side. “Huh. Well this is quite a predicament.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “It’s pretty cut and dry to me.” You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. 

”No, it’s just that we’re very much not done.” 

It took several seconds to process what he was saying. “If one person wants to leave then it’s done.” 

”Nope.” Moriarty gave you a sly grin before taking a sip from his coffee, making sure to never break eye contact. 

You really hated it when Moriarty backed you into a corner and made you look like an idiot. Lucky for you, you had something up your sleeve; “Who are you, Maura?” at this, Moriarty looked genuinely confused. "You know, Seinfeld? She’s the woman who wouldn’t let George Costanza break up with her?” 

Moriarty snorted. “I have better things to do than watch drivel.” 

”Well, it seems that you partake in drivel.” 

You watched as Moriarty’s eyes traveled from your face, down to your toes, and back again. “You certainly don’t look like drivel.” he gave you a wicked grin and patted the table. “Sit down. I didn’t make all of this coffee for myself. You don’t want to be rude to your house guest, do you?” 

With narrowed eyes, you went to the carafe and poured yourself some liquid gold. “You’re not a guest. You broke in,” you said, taking the seat across from him. You glared at him from over your mug as you used it to warm your hands. Moriarty only fed on your irritancy and gave you a small smirk before reaching out and prying one of your hands from your mug and threading his fingers with yours. You were still surprised at how warm he was. 

”Let’s do something. I’m sooooooooo bored!” He threw his head back and made a guttural noise. When you didn’t answer, he righted himself and looked around the room sullenly. His eyes caught his coffee cup. With a sigh, he knocked it off the table like a bored cat would push a glass off a bookshelf. 

”Hey!” you yelled, jumping up to get a rag. “Are you just going to keep breaking things until we do something?” You were answered with another sound of shattered ceramic. You turned around. 

Moriarty’s lips were pursed and his eyes were wide. He made sure to avoid eye contact in faux guilt. “Oops.” 

~*~ 

You were grumbling as you stepped out onto the pavement, Moriarty’s arm around your waist. You had did your best to get out of this situation, but he had put you in a bad spot. After breaking the second mug, Moriarty and proceeded to break absolutely everything in your kitchen. The plates and bowls were the first to go, and when you still weren’t moved he had moved on to the toaster and tea kettle. It wasn’t until he got to the Sherlock’s microscope that you cracked. 

”You’re an immature brat. It actually annoys me that you’re the person who’s been murdering all of these girls.” 

You were so _weird_. “Don’t fit your super villain profile?” 

”Just get on with whatever it is you want to do so I can leave,” you said. You didn’t want to engage in any banter to encourage him. “I’m never seeing you again after today. This was a mistake, a horrible, awful, shameful mistake.” 

”Ouch,” Moriarty winced, “you’re really in a mood today, aren’t you? What did that detective do?” 

You looked at him defiantly. “I told him about us. He knows that I’m leaving you today.” You weren’t sure what Moriarty’s reaction was going to be. He was a very hard man to predict, but you did not expect him to burst out in laughter. 

He spun you around and cupped your face. “Well isn’t that just _precious_?” He was giving you _that_ look, the look that would earn him a padded cell in the nearest insane asylum. You could count the veins in his eyes. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems that you still haven’t gotten it through your fucking skull,” he smacked the side of your head, making you flinch, “but you are in far too deep to back out now.” he pulled back. “We’re going on a trip today, and I don’t want you to sour it with that ‘tude.” 

Just then, a black Bentley pulled up to the curb. Moriarty opened the door, the mask of charm already neatly secure on his face. “After you.” 

Trying your best to suppress your ogling of the most expensive thing you had ever seen, you wordlessly slid into the car. Nestling into your seat, you drank in the absolute wealth as you tapped your fingernails on the side table. Moriarty took the seat across from you looking particularly happy with himself. 

Crime really does pay. 

“What is it you actually do?” you asked as the car began to move. 

”Does it matter?” 

”I suppose not.” you looked out of the window. “This is a fruitless question, but where are we going?” 

”Weeeeeeeell, it’s a bit out of the way and the brat needs some culture.” He smirked when you forgot about the window and looked at him, wide-eyed and desperate. 

”What do you mean…” You didn’t want to get your hopes up. 

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “Jade will be there. I don’t know what you see in her. I’m not even the one who looks after her and I want to bash my head against the wall.” 

You had stopped listening. You were going to hold Jade in your arms again. She was going to be safe. You were so busy inside your own head that you didn’t even notice when the car stopped or when Moriarty lead you out onto the pavement. It wasn’t until you felt a pair of lips brush your forehead that you snapped back to reality. 

You were standing on the tarmac of the London City airport next to a small private jet. Somehow your hand was entwined with Moriarty’s. You didn’t know who initiated it, and you really didn’t care at this point. Jade, you were going to see Jade. Your family would finally be whole again after what seemed like eons of torture from the person you were holding hands with. It was so stupid, the words that came out of your mouth. _He_ was the one who took her. _He_ was the one who started all of this. But you said them all the same; 

“Thank you.” 

Even Moriarty found it a little odd because he raised a judgmental eyebrow. He opened his mouth for a snarky retort, but didn’t have the chance because your lips met his. God, were you _weird,_ he thought before snaking a hand through your hair and crushing you against him. He was so close to putting you in your place, reminding you that you were only a man’s beloved clever dog. He let out a low growl and pulled you closer. 

”Thank you,” you whispered between kisses. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” You weren’t really sure when you had started crying, but your cheeks were damp with tears. Suddenly Moriarty roughly shoved you away, causing you to stumble. 

”How many times do I need to emphasize that whatever I wear costs more than anything you will get your ruddy hands on?” he snapped as he fervently brushed off his lapels. With an angry grunt, he took off his blazer and threw it over his shoulder, now in a waistcoat and dress shirt. “Just get in,” he ordered, getting in the plane without a second glance. 

~*~ 

”So we’re going straight to the airport, I take it?” John asked breathlessly, having to jog to keep up with Sherlock. 

”Unless you have a faster way to Scotland, then yes, John. We are going to the airport.” Sherlock burst through the doors and slid into the cab that Sherlock had threatened at gunpoint to wait for them. 

”London City Airport –“ 

”Yeah, yeah. Get you there now or you’ll shoot me. I got it,” their cabbie friend jeered as he pulled away from the curb. The car ride was silent for several minutes. John looked over at Sherlock, who seemed deep in thought. 

“Any idea why Moriarty is in Scotland?” 

“None whatsoever. The only thing I know for certain is that he wants to be dramatic.” Sherlock was frustrated. He had been trying to figure out the significance of Scotland and the coordinates Moriarty had given him. Where he wanted to meet them was extremely odd, and why Moriarty felt the need to travel all the way for that particular place was very confusing. 

”We’re here. Get out,” the cabbie ordered. Sherlock was out the door before he had even finished the sentence, striding over to his brother. 

”You said _someone_ was going to meet us here, not _you._ ” 

Mycroft lazily raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” 

”Of course it is seeing as you are going to stick your nose into a place where it doesn’t belong.” 

Mycroft leaned on his umbrella. “I think my nose belongs anywhere when family is involved, especially when it has to do with high crime.” He held out a hand and the man standing next to him handed him a manila file. “So, this James Moriarty…” he opened the file. 

Sherlock was taken aback. “Wait. You _know_ about him? And you know that he’s involved?” 

Mycroft looked up. “You really should have let me in on this sooner, dear brother,” he said condescendingly. 

”Hold the phone,” John held up a finger, “how do you know all this?” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he turned to John. “Does it matter?” 

”I guess it doesn’t,” John replied sheepishly and retreated. 

”Now I take it that James Moriarty is on his way to Scotland. He wouldn’t take any commercial flights and being a man of wealth, would have private transportation. The plane would not be registered, so I checked all takeoffs from the time of your text and before. While a plane cannot be tracked without registration, air traffic control still has to direct it to take off because of air traffic. There has only been one jet that fits the description, and it left about three hours ago.” Mycroft swung his umbrella over his shoulder. “I believe you should thank my nose.” He smiled smugly. 

Sherlock gave him a tight lipped smile. Like it or not, Mycroft had helped them immensely. “Thank you,” he grumbled. 

”You are so very welcome. The tarmac is this way,” Mycroft pointed his umbrella to the left, “so I suggest we get going. You have an hour and twenty minute flight.” They began to walk, Sherlock muttering the whole way.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Mycroft to death and could write him for years.
> 
> Everything is happening for a reason, I promise.


End file.
